Apr 2
Butterflies grace me as a tingling in the pit of my tiny stomach, even before I can consciously process – downstairs from the balcony where I stand overlooking the work areas and speaking to my colleagues – the tingle graces me unexpectedly, a half second after my eyes pass over him – tall and mysterious, strong and breathtaking; dark hair and glasses... almost painfully beautiful. I shift my focus – I must work. I am appalled at myself, at my own physiology, realizing he has caused this tingling. Bittersweet is this experience, as I both understand and hate the effects all simultaneously.
I realize that he will be in my quarters soon, brewing my coffee, only enhancing my affection.
In a secret world, a wonderful dream unfolds before my eyes. I can think of only him, though I try, try to curb the distraction, averting to work again and again. We hustle and bustle about, a twinkle in our eyes when they meet, knowing that we have a special secret, and a strong friendship that others can never seem to grok. Though we've promised time and again, that we must keep our relations neat and professional, keep ourselves and our bodies sacred for our partners, we cannot seem to. My body entices him, my large breasts and manner - brazenly unafraid and sexually experienced. His youth and masculinity enthrall me. His physical features, dark and magnetic, his body strong and yet, gentle. His sexuality so responsive and aware of me, my passion can only grow fonder.
The day wears on and stress proliferates. In this together, as both good friends and bonded colleagues, we experience pure hysteria in our workday – unhappy colleagues, unhappy bosses, unhappy customers, and webs of ridiculous paperwork. Yet the weight of the workplace is upon our shoulders, for us to problem solve each question and demand.
On trips out of town, to restaurants, and in our offices after hours, our hands are roaming constantly, our passion, insatiable as we forget the day's rigors and the real world. I am fascinated by his power, his energy, his masculinity in ways that are both insatiable and forbidden. He is forbidden, and so am I.
In the car, he kisses me, his lips charming and sweet - I breathe him in and taste his lips. We could hardly wait for this moment together, to release the stress of the common day. I feel as if I have been asleep for a thousand years and am just awakening. Feeling him, touching him as his lips warm me, enveloped in his sweet smell and taste - his scent is perfectly clean, as perfect hygiene is something for which I am always fond. In the restaurant during our luncheon, he could not keep his hands from me. Under the table, on my thigh and inching its way under my waistband, his touch feels as natural to me as breathing. I am electrified, and we leave the restaurant in a hurry.
This time we park after lunch. I bend my leg, lifting my skirt slightly. I am able to tease the fabric of my girl boxer shorts, pushing it to one side, which exposes the fleshy carnation within my thighs. He has long awaited this, and only hopes for more. Exploring, teasing and caressing the outside, he strokes me until I am breathing heavily and moaning with great pleasure. He comments that he loves the sight of my flesh, that it is perfect and pretty – his fingers delve within, and I can feel involuntary muscles contracting and responding as my back arches and I cannot help moaning insatiably. I almost cannot look into his sweet face -- for he is too beautiful with dark eyes beaming deeply from beneath his oval glasses. Continuing for several minutes, Micah is hot, too... obvious when I cast a peek at his trousers, tented and bulging. "I just want to Fuck you...so... bad..." I say... knowing that we cannot, and probably will not. He agrees, "so do I, you are so fucking sexy..." I am shy and laugh like a child. I reach out and squeeze the bulging of his trousers. He likes this, but too much will leave him with an aching desire. Alas we must return to work.
